She nodded and picked at her eggs. “I meant what I said. I won’t ask any more questions about your business.”
“That’s best. Don’t ask, don’t tell.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind.”
“Just tell me again that you’re up to good rather than no good.”
“Yes,” I said. “I’m one of the good guys.”
“Will you be able to tell me someday?”
“I hope so,” I said. “Sadie, those pictures he sent-”
“I tore them up this morning. I don’t want to talk about them.”
“We don’t have to. But I need you to tell me that’s all the contact you’ve had with him. That he hasn’t been around.”
“He hasn’t been. And the postmark on the envelope was Savannah.”
I’d noticed that. But I’d also noticed the postmark was almost two months old.
“He’s not big on personal confrontation. He’s brave enough in his mind, but I think he’s a physical coward.”
That struck me as a good assessment; sending the pictures was textbook passive-aggressive behavior. Still, she had been sure Clayton wouldn’t find out where she was now living and teaching, and she’d been wrong about that. “The behavior of mentally unstable people is hard to predict, honey. If you saw him, you’d call the police, right?”
“ Yes, George.” With a touch of her old impatience. “I need to ask you one question, then we won’t talk about this anymore until you’re ready. If you ever are.”
“Okay.” I tried to prepare an answer to the question I was sure would be coming: Are you from the future, George?
“It’s going to sound crazy.”
“It’s been a crazy night. Go ahead.”
“Are you…” She laughed, then started to gather the plates. She went to the sink with them, and with her back turned, she asked: “Are you human? Like, from planet Earth?”
I went to her, reached around to cup her breasts, and kissed the back of her neck. “Totally human.”
She turned. Her eyes were grave. “Can I ask another?”
I sighed. “Shoot.”
“I’ve got at least forty minutes before I have to dress for school. Do you happen to have another condom? I think I’ve discovered the cure for headaches.”
So in the end it only took the threat of nuclear war to bring us back together-how romantic is that?
Okay, maybe not.
Deke Simmons, the sort of man who took an extra hankie to sad movies, approved heartily. Ellie Dockerty did not. Here is a strange thing I’ve noticed: women are better at keeping secrets, but men are more comfortable with them. A week or so after the Cuban Missile Crisis ended, Ellie called Sadie into her office and shut the door-not a good sign. She was typically blunt, asking Sadie if she knew any more about me than she had before.
“No,” Sadie said.
“But you’ve begun again.”
“Yes.”
“Do you even know where he lives?”
“No, but I have a telephone number.”
Ellie rolled her eyes, and who could blame her. “Has he told you anything at all about his past? Whether he’s been married before? Because I believe that he has been.”
Sadie stayed silent.
“Has he happened to mention if he’s left a dropped calf or two behind somewhere? Because sometimes men do that, and a man who’s done it once will not hesitate to-”
“Miz Ellie, may I go back to the library now? I’ve left a student in charge, and while Helen’s very responsible, I don’t like to leave them too-”
“Go, go.” Ellie flapped a hand at the door.
“I thought you liked George,” Sadie said as she got up.
“I do,” Ellie replied-in a tone, Sadie told me later, that said I did. “I’d like him even better-and like him for you better-if I knew what his real name was, and what he’s up to.”
“Don’t ask, don’t tell,” Sadie said as she went to the door.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That I love him. That he saved my life. That all I have to give him in return is my trust, and I intend to give it.”
Miz Ellie was one of those women accustomed to getting the last word in most situations, but she didn’t get it that time.
We fell into a pattern that fall and winter. I would drive down to Jodie on Friday afternoons. Sometimes on the way, I would buy flowers at the florist in Round Hill. Sometimes I’d get my hair cut at the Jodie Barber Shop, which was a great place to catch up on all the local chatter. Also, I’d gotten used to having it short. I could remember wearing it so long it flopped in my eyes, but not why I’d put up with the annoyance. Getting used to Jockey shorts over boxers was harder, but after awhile my balls no longer claimed to be strangling.
We’d usually eat at Al’s Diner on those evenings, then go to the football game. And when the football season ended, there was basketball. Sometimes Deke joined us, decked out in his school sweater with Brian the Fightin’ Denton Lion on the front.
Miz Ellie, never.
Her disapproval did not stop us from going to the Candlewood Bungalows after the Friday games. I usually stayed there alone on Saturday nights, and on Sundays I’d join Sadie for services at Jodie’s First Methodist Church. We shared a hymnal and sang many verses of “Bringing in the Sheaves.” Sowing in the morning, sowing seeds of kindness… the melody and those well-meant sentiments still linger in my head.
